


Unpleasant Arrangements

by Chrononautical



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrononautical/pseuds/Chrononautical
Summary: The King Under the Mountain requires a consort. Bilbo is happy to help him find one. So. Very. Happy.





	Unpleasant Arrangements

“But why must Thorin have a Consort if he does not particularly want one?” Bilbo asked plaintively.

Dis raised an eyebrow. “He insulted the Mirkwood ambassador in three different languages yesterday. I am astounded that we are not already at war.” 

“Gorthellas is more reasonable than that. I had him to tea and explained why Thorin was so out of sorts. He was quite understanding, especially since we were able to talk Thorin round to the trade concessions in the end.” 

Dis was unmoved. “Much as I appreciate your efforts, Master Baggins, Erebor needs someone who can speak up in the throne room. Someone who can curtail my brother’s bullheaded temper before it gets out of hand. Only a consort has that ability. I trust you will aid in this endeavor.” 

Settling back in his cozy armchair, Bilbo looked about his sitting room rather than meet Dis’s eyes. Thick carpets covered the marble floor with colorful designs. Every stone wall bore an elaborate tapestry. One of them featured Bilbo and Thorin leading the Company into the Mountain. Another depicted Bag End in silk thread. Over his fireplace, the mantle was carved with winding vines and beautiful flowers. Fond as he was of his overstuffed armchair, there was plenty of seating to choose from, some of it on a scale that would be comfortable for visitors from Mirkwood or Dale, all of it made of the finest materials. In the end, Bilbo’s eyes settled on the tea set. It was handcrafted from particularly delicate porcelain. A gift from Thorin, as a matter of fact. For no occasion at all. Just because the king thought Bilbo would like it. He loved it. 

“Of course,” Bilbo told the teapot. “I shall be very happy to help Thorin find a wife. I am always happy to help Thorin in any way that I can.” 

“Good.” 

As it happened, finding a wife for a king was not entirely dissimilar to courting in the Shire. At first, it only involved a great deal of tea. 

Bilbo, Balin, Thorin, and Dis would sit down with some girl and her parents. The girl was always tremendously beautiful. She always had a rich, luxurious beard decked in shining jewels. She never said anything at all. Balin would inform everyone of the young lady’s parentage going back six generations. Then Thorin would make a polite compliment about her clothing. The parents would say something horrifying about heirs and their daughter’s potential for the breeding of such. Dis would say something noncommittal about her own sons. It was all tremendously awkward. 

So, not particularly unlike the first time a lad or lass was expected to take tea with their future in-laws in the Shire. 

Only, Thorin never seemed to go walking with any of these beautiful dwarven ladies. He never brought them flowers or jewels. He never invited one to supper. He never showed any partiality at all. 

“You are not going to fall in love over terrible tea, you know,” Bilbo informed him privately. 

Somehow, Thorin’s raised eyebrow was friendlier and less intimidating than Dis’s, despite the many similarities in their features. “I thought that camomile blend you served us was very nice.” 

Kicking him was the only possible response. Laughing, Thorin tackled Bilbo in a restraining embrace. Although the hobbit made a show of pulling away, he was rather breathless when he finally left the warm circle of Thorin’s arms. “None of that, you great child!” Bilbo scolded. In truth, he rather adored how free and easy Thorin could be when they were in private. The king’s cares seemed to fall away in such moments, and he was only Thorin Oakenshield: the ridiculous dwarf who never failed to make Bilbo smile. 

“Then what would you have of me, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked. “I am yours to command. Shall I sing for my supper like a wandering minstrel or repair the handle of your kettle again?”

“The kettle is holding up very nicely, thank you,” Bilbo said. “But we must talk about this, Thorin. I have promised your sister.” 

“There is nothing to talk about.” Thorin scowled. “I have agreed to marry. Balin and Dis will choose a consort for me. Barring only your veto, I will wed their choice.” 

“What a horrible thing to say,” Bilbo cried. “What about love?” 

“Love will play no part in my marriage,” the king said. Then he turned away from Bilbo and began grumpily setting the table. 

Catching his arm, Bilbo forced Thorin to face him. “Perhaps not at first, but surely you will grow to love your wife.”

Flinching as though Bilbo had slapped him, Thorin said, “It is different for dwarves.” 

Bilbo snorted, but released him. “It cannot be as different as all that. I will not see you unhappily settled, Thorin Oakenshield. If I get a veto, then I shall simply reject any candidate who does not have your heart.” 

At once, Thorin’s eyes regained their sparkle. “Then you will save me from this shackling entirely? I knew you would be my ally, Bilbo.” 

Rolling his eyes, Bilbo filled their plates. Abruptly, he realized that private dinners would be few and far between when Thorin took a wife. Resolving to enjoy them while they lasted, Bilbo turned the conversation to less troubling subjects, starting with the soup course. 

The reprieve did not last. Every day they met a new candidate for Thorin’s consort. Each was as lovely and unremarkable as the one before. Thorin showed no partiality to any of them, and never commented on anything but their fine clothing. Balin accepted this with equanimity, but Dis seemed to be growing annoyed. 

“You are not doing your part,” she told Bilbo. 

“Excuse me?” The hobbit frowned at her. “Those were my best gooseberry tarts. It is not my fault that the lass was too nervous to eat. Anyway, she seemed a bit young for all of this.” 

Dis scowled. She looked almost exactly like her brother when she scowled. The resemblance was enough to wipe away Bilbo’s own frown, though he was careful not to smile at her ill humor. “You are meant to encourage him to find a good partner. Not sit there like a particularly servile lump refreshing everyone’s tea without speaking.” 

Bilbo shrugged. “No one is going to fall in love over an awkward tea with the family,” he said. “These are only introductions.” 

Slowly, Dis stopped scowling. Her face took on a carefully blank expression. “Thorin will not marry for love. You know that.” 

Waving away this ridiculousness, Bilbo admitted, “He said the same thing. I call that very short sighted. Even if he is not twitterpated like a tween over his new bride, we must be sure that he will be happy. It would be quite silly to marry someone only to sit in stony silence with them like we all do at tea.” 

“You mean familial love,” Dis suggested. “Loyalty. Friendship.” 

“No, I mean love,” Bilbo said. “I know Thorin must have a consort, but trust me. I have seen too many people marry for property or status to believe there is any chance of long term happiness in it. Why, my cousin Lobelia married into the family for the Baggins name—though she had to settle for Sackville-Baggins—and she is the most disgruntled shrew in the Shire, I promise you.” 

“Bilbo.” Dis seemed unable to put her thought into words. She opened and closed her mouth several times without speaking. Waiting patiently, Bilbo refilled her teacup. “Thorin lost his chance at love. All know this.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Bilbo, who certainly knew nothing of the sort. 

“Dwarves love once. You must have been told as much.” 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed. “And that is a very romantic notion. But surely it is only that? Although it is not a pleasant topic, spouses die. You cannot expect people to remain alone forever. Dwarves do not fade away for want of love like elves in ancient stories. If Thorin lost one love—” 

Here, Bilbo had to hesitate. He did not like to think of Thorin in love. Much more than that, he did not like to think of Thorin suffering such a loss. It must have been the dragon. Thorin lost so much when Erebor fell the first time. 

“Well,” Bilbo said, “I am very sorry for that. But I refuse to believe that such a loss condemns him forever to a life without love.” 

When Bilbo looked up from his tea, he found Dis peering at him with narrow, calculating eyes. After a long moment, she said, “What do you suggest?”

At once, Bilbo brightened. “I’m glad you asked. I shall need your help.” 

As everyone knew—except apparently dwarves—the best way to encourage two lonely hearts to beat in time was a dance. A party was just the thing. Thorin could stand up with each of his potential consorts and get to know them without the pressure of conversation or eavesdropping parents. 

After enlisting Dis’s help with the invitations, Bilbo arranged everything to perfection. He decorated the Hall of Kings with festive garlands to match the golden floor. He made sure that all of the statues and tapestries were given a good cleaning. Food was easily planned, since light canapes, finger sandwiches, cupcakes, punch, and wine was all that could be expected at such an affair. Music was even easier. Bilbo happened to be friends with some of the finest musicians in Erebor, and he trusted their judgment. 

Indeed, the party went over very well. Dwarves love showing off, and dancing is just another way to do that. Thorin did his duty obligingly, and danced the first ten dances with the lasses who Balin considered potential consorts. All of them looked very lovely in their beaded dresses, wearing enough jewelry to buy and sell Bag End three times over. Upon the eleventh reel, however, Thorin rebelled. 

Finding Bilbo next to the punch, the king demanded, “Dance with me. I cannot bear another compliment about my beads.” 

The beads in Thorin’s hair and beard were silver set with bright blue sapphires. They brought out his eyes magnificently. Wisely, Bilbo did not comment on this. Instead, he said, “Behave. You are meant to be dancing with girls foolish enough to marry you. However, since it is too late to join this reel, you may have a glass of punch.” 

Accepting the glass with ill humor, Thorin raised it in a toast. “To the fools of Erebor. May one be stupid enough to shackle herself to me.” 

“Surely it is not all that bad.” Bilbo nudged Thorin with his shoulder. “Mira made you smile.” 

The king looked sideways at the hobbit. “Have you been counting my smiles, then?” 

Bilbo took a long sip of his own punch to hide his blush. Finally he said, “I am determined to see you happy, Thorin Oakenshield.” 

“Then dance with me,” Thorin said seriously. “Give me a respite from this.”

There was very little that Bilbo could deny Thorin, so the hobbit put down his glass. “As ordered, your majesty.” 

By some mischief, just as they took to the dance floor the band struck up a waltz. Unlike the dwarven line dances—which were very similar to the reels Bilbo danced in the Shire—a waltz involved having Thorin’s arms about him for the entire dance. There was still a respectable distance between their bodies. Of course there was. But the posture of the dance meant that a couple’s hands were clasped the whole time. Together. When their legs moved in unison through the steps of the dance it was quite suggestive. Bilbo could never waltz with anyone except Thorin. Even then he felt terribly exposed. Likely, the whole room could see how enchanted Bilbo was by the king. 

“Have you never considered remaining a bachelor?” It was done sometimes in the Shire, where the matter of heirs was less likely to cause wars. Two bachelors or two spinsters might keep a house very comfortably together. As long as no one made a spectacle, no one minded. 

“I consider it daily,” Thorin said his voice very serious. “You are right. I should not marry where I do not love. So I will be faithful to my love, lost though it has been. I will not marry.” 

“No, no, no.” Bilbo shook his head to clear it. Naturally the King Under the Mountain could not live with a hobbit, and that would not solve the problem of a consort anyway. “You must marry. For the good of your kingdom. I do not know why I said— You must simply fall in love again. Mira seems nice.” 

Thorin’s hand tightened on Bilbo’s waist, drawing the hobbit closer in the spinning, intricate steps of the dance. Bilbo did not falter. Following where Thorin led was the easiest thing in the world. 

“That simple, is it?” Thorin’s voice was deceptively soft, but Bilbo could hear the underlying anger.

“In fact it is,” the hobbit said firmly. 

“You have fallen in love many times yourself, I gather?”

“Of course I have,” Bilbo lied. “Dozens of times. Love is fleeting, you know.” 

In truth, although he went through the motions of a few flirtations in his youth, Bilbo’s heart had never been touched before meeting Thorin. He doubted it would ever be so moved again. But that was Thorin. A heroic king was a tough act to follow. They’d survived dragons, betrayal, and bloody war together. To forgive one another after the deep rift in their friendship caused by Thorin’s madness and the theft of the Arkenstone meant their connection was unbreakable. If it was not love on Thorin’s side, that only served to prove the depth of Bilbo’s own devotion.

The hobbit tried to imagine what Thorin’s love had been like and found he couldn’t. She was probably young, graceful, and well dressed, just as all of his proposed consorts were now. They were probably bound together by banquets and a few dances. Although he knew it was quite terrible, Bilbo thought changing out one young lady for another oughtn’t be that much of a trial. Especially not after a century of loneliness.

“Are all hobbits so inconstant?” Thorin’s voice was sharp. His anger was no longer veiled.

Bilbo did not like upsetting his friend. Unfortunately, real friends told the truth. “It is not inconstancy. It is the pursuit of happiness. If someone loves you truly, then they would want you to be happy. Even if that means being with someone else after you are parted.” 

“If love is true, then it does not end.” Dropping Bilbo from his embrace entirely, Thorin stormed away, leaving the hobbit alone in the middle of the dance floor well before the end of the song. 

Bilbo sighed. “That went well.” 

So the dance was a mixed success. At least Bilbo had a jumping off point when it came to finding Thorin a consort. After all, Mira did make him smile. 

Mira, daughter of Dira, was a blacksmith like Thorin when she wasn’t being a well dressed lady. Making her acquaintance without her parents, Bilbo realized that she wasn’t nearly as young or as spiritless as he’d thought on first impression. She was very friendly, in fact. 

“I am not dressed for royal visitors,” she said cheerfully, gesturing at her soot covered apron and project covered workbench. “My apologies, Master Burglar.”

“Oh, no need to be so formal. Call me Bilbo, please. I am not hiding Thorin in my shirtsleeves.”

Grinning, Mira said, “No? But usually he is attached to your hip.”

Bilbo laughed uncomfortably. “Well, that will change after he marries, I promise you. I shan’t hang about like a sparrow in springtime or invite myself to supper unannounced.” 

“I am sure that no one who has met you would suspect you of bad manners, Master Burglar,” Mira said politely. “Did you come to talk about my smithy? I am happy to take commissions. I work very discreetly, if you are looking for a gift.”

“Bilbo, please, and no. I just wanted to speak to you about Thorin. He likes you, I can tell, but he wants encouragement.” 

“He likes me?” Mira did not look as pleased as one would think to hear of the king’s favor. 

“Well, yes.” Bilbo was puzzled. “Don’t you like him?”

“I will do my duty if the king chooses me,” Mira said. Her hand went to a hammer on the workbench reflexively, but she did not pick it up. “I suppose I have not yet resigned myself entirely to a life without love. I will, though. If he chooses me.” 

“How silly!” Bilbo was quite fed up with dwarves deciding that their hearts were untouchable without even trying. “If you mean Thorin, I am quite sure that he will get over his earlier heartbreak and grow to adore you. If you don’t think you can fall in love with Thorin, well. I’m sure that is not the case.” 

“Why is that so out of the question?” Mira tilted her head to one side. Her long, black braids cascaded over her shoulder. “I do not love him.” 

“Oh, you just don’t know him yet.” So Bilbo told her about him. Not the things she could hear from anyone. Everyone knew he was a good king, a fine warrior, and an excellent blacksmith. Bilbo told her about his harp, his singing voice, and his terrible sense of humor. He told her how stupidly protective and honorable the king was. When she made a polite noise of noncommittal agreement, Bilbo told her the story of their encounter with the trolls. Anyone who would lay down his arms and surrender the entire company to certain death for the sake of a single captured hobbit was honorable indeed. 

Unsurprisingly, Mira agreed. Settling in, she made them both tea. When a customer came to pick up an order, Bilbo told them both about the time Thorin saved him from falling to his death in the Misty Mountains. Another customer turned up and asked about the Oakenshield, which was a good example of how Thorin could be equanimical about his losses despite his occasionally volatile temper. After that, it made sense to go chronologically so that he wouldn’t get mixed up. By the time he got to the mithril coat (proof of Thorin’s generosity), the Arkenstone (proof of Thorin’s forgiving nature), and the Battle of Five Armies (proof of Thorin’s valor), there was a small crowd in the smithy. Bilbo suspected it was not entirely comprised of paying customers. 

“And there you have it,” he finished weakly, coming to his senses. “Thorin is a very fine fellow. He deserves to be happy.” 

Nodding, Mira wiped tears from her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “I see that.” 

Proud of his storytelling and slightly embarrassed for the lass, Bilbo patted her on the arm. “Then I shall leave you to your customers,” he said. “But you must come to dinner at my home in two days time. Seven o’clock on the dot. Feel free to bring your parents and any other chaperone you care to.” 

As he slipped out of the smithy, Bilbo bumped into Nori. The thief was nearly as quiet as a hobbit, and Bilbo did not remember him in the audience for his story. 

In answer to the unasked question, Nori said, “Wish I’d gotten here sooner. I only just managed to hear the retelling of the Battle, and I was there for most of that.” 

“You were there for all the rest as well,” Bilbo pointed out. 

“Yes, but I’d like to hear you tell it.” Nori gave him a strange little half smile. “It’s easy to forget how much you admire him. You’re still staying for him, aren’t you? Even after everything. If Thorin weren’t here, you’d go back to the Shire.” 

Suddenly, Bilbo felt very cold. He stopped walking. “Just what game are you playing, spymaster?” 

Nori met his eyes. “No game, Bilbo. I’ll leave those to you.” 

Before Bilbo could demand an explanation, he left. 

Well, Nori was always a bit odd. In any case, Bilbo had more important things to worry about than one dwarf’s peculiar behavior. He only had two days to reconcile with Thorin and arrange a respectable dinner party. 

Reconciling with Thorin was surprisingly easy. While Bilbo could not apologize for his words, he was eager to apologize for upsetting Thorin and poking an old wound. Thorin seemed equally eager to accept. 

“In truth, perhaps you are not alone in owing an apology,” the king said. “It was hardly polite for me to abandon you in the middle of a dance.” 

As always, Bilbo noticed that Thorin did not actually apologize. Still, the sentiment was there. That had to be good enough. So Bilbo waved away all the rest. “No need to worry about that! The more I think about it, the more I realize it is dreadfully inappropriate for us to be waltzing now that you are practically engaged. Best to put a stop to it for good.” 

“As you say,” Thorin agreed stiffly. 

“About that, I have excellent news.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mira will be attending a small dinner party at my home. May I rely on your attendance as well?” 

“Yes.”

“Splendid. Splendid! Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll have a lovely supper, and I’ll be sure to seat the two of you next to one another. You can have a good chat. Get to know each other. Name cards! I’ll draw some up. Oh! It will be an evening to remember I promise you.” 

Just as the hobbit made to go, Thorin stopped him. “Bilbo?” 

“Yes? I really must dash. If I’m to write name cards, I have to finalize a guest list right away.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“Have you really been in love a dozen times?” 

“Oh.” Bilbo stopped. Meeting Thorin’s eyes was a mistake. The king was unfortunately perceptive. He would know if Bilbo lied again. “No. No, I haven’t. But plenty of people do fall in love over and over again. I’m a terrible example. A lifelong bachelor. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. Not properly, with someone who returned the sentiment. I’m just not built for it, I suppose.” 

Bilbo had to glance away then. Thorin looked terribly sad. Much more affected than he ought to be by such a pronouncement. Bilbo wondered if he knew.

“I am sure the fault does not lie with you,” the king said softly. “Only with the one who did not love you so well as you deserve.” 

Bilbo could say nothing more on the topic, and went to write out his name cards for the dinner party. 

There was nothing mixed about the success of Bilbo’s dinner party. Bilbo knew the dwarven palate very well, and he served a meal to suit his guests. Three big roasts of pork, lamb, and pheasant adorned the center of his table. Around them were great tureens of mashed potatoes and cabbage, thick gravy, and good stew. The vegetables were all easily recognized, heavily cooked, and optional. His bread was another story. After all, Bilbo made his own salted butter. The bread was in high demand. Fili and Kili even wrested over the last dinner roll, each coming up with half as though they'd agreed to share from the start. Fortunately, Bilbo was able to produce a second basket for his other guests. 

Mira and Thorin seemed happy enough. 

Over the course of dinner, their conversation grew closer and more animate. Thorin began to smile. His real smile, not the polite one. 

Bilbo refreshed his own ale and offered another to Balin at his right. 

“Thank you, Bilbo.” Balin’s eyes twinkled as he accepted the mug. “That seems to be going well.” 

“Yes,” the hobbit agreed. “Yes, quite.”

“Although, of course, the engagement is hardly finalized.” The dwarf smiled and took a long sip of his drink. “If another wanted to step forward and claim the duties of consort, I am sure Thorin would be open to the proposition.” 

“What do you mean?” Bilbo poked at his limp greens. He really did prefer them crisper, but the dwarves would not eat them if he served them fresh. “She makes him happy.” 

Balin sniffed. “And no one else could ever do that.” 

Just then, Thorin laughed. Not the loud, performative laugh he sometimes used to bring people around to his side of an argument. The short, surprised one with the little snort at the end. His real laugh. 

Bilbo found he was finished with his dinner. 

When the table broke for cocktails and people began wandering off in small groups, Bilbo was not surprised that Thorin and Mira disappeared together. He was pleased by that development. Very pleased. If he served coffee and dessert rather more promptly than he might otherwise have done, it was only because Kili was so very fond of Bilbo’s Black Forest Gateau. He was not hoping to recall them. Which was a good thing. They did not come back for the cutting of the cake. 

Forgoing his own piece of cake, Bilbo slipped away to check on Thorin. It was his duty as a matchmaker. 

He found them quickly. His home was hobbit-sized, and there were not very many places that a couple would go to be alone. They were standing next to the fire in the library, talking quietly. Thorin stood angled toward the flames, but Bilbo wondered if Mira could see him peeking through the crack in the door. If she did, she took no notice of him. Instead, she tucked a few of her long braids behind her ear and said something softly. Thorin laughed. Again. His real laugh. 

The king stepped toward her and placed one of his strong hands on her bearded cheek. She tilted her head up to face him. Just a little. They were very close in height. Then they kissed. It was a very sweet tableau. In front of the fire. Surrounded by books and golden light. They were a perfectly matched couple. Bilbo was very happy for them. He could not move. He could not breathe. He was so very happy for them. 

He watched for too long. After the couple broke apart, Thorin turned and saw him looking. Bilbo did his best to smile in congratulations. Then he put on his ring and left so as not to disturb the moment. 

Leaving the doorway was not enough. So Bilbo went further afield. 

It was stupid to be jealous. Stupid to weep. Stupid to be disappointed by Thorin’s happiness. Thorin’s happiness was all that Bilbo wanted in the world. Of course a beautiful, blacksmithing dwarrowdam was his perfect match. Bilbo wanted nothing more than to be near to Thorin—as a friend—and ensure that the rest of his life was spent in peace and plenty. Only his heart seized most painfully at the sight of the couple. Bilbo could not bear it. He was not strong enough. So he would have to go. 

Round about Dale, Bilbo realized that he could not walk all the way back to the Shire alone, in the dark, wearing only his party clothes. He did not have Sting, provisions, money, or anything else that he needed for such a journey. He did have a pocket handkerchief, at least, but it was rather soiled after earlier events. 

Although it was terribly rude and so very late at night, Bilbo knocked quietly on the door of Bard’s house. The guard who answered recognized him at once. Bilbo insisted he should not wake anyone. Obligingly, the fellow showed him to a nice armchair in front the fire in the sitting room. Bilbo was old friends with that armchair, it being one of the few comfortably hobbit-sized ones available in Bard’s house. After a long day and a longer night, it was good to get off his feet for a moment. His eyes ached almost as much as his legs, swollen and dry from all of the tears. Bilbo let them rest as well. 

When he woke, he heard someone getting a stern talking to. It was through a closed door and in another room, but hobbits have very good hearing. Apparently, Bard was not thrilled that Bilbo had been shown to a chair and not a guest bedroom. 

“It’s all right,” Bilbo said. “I insisted.” 

“You always do.” Bard looked tremendously displeased. “However, if a matter is desperate enough for you to come to Dale in the middle of the night, I insist you wake me, Master Baggins.” 

“Oh, no,” Bilbo said quickly. “Nothing is desperate or dangerous, I promise. In fact, I have very good news.” Bilbo tried to smile, but he could not quite manage it. Only because it was still before breakfast, he was sure. 

“Do you?” Bard’s voice was flat and full of skepticism. 

“I certainly do!” Bilbo forced his smile to become something more genuine. “Thorin is getting married!”

“I see.” 

“Yes, yes, it’s quite wonderful,” Bilbo agreed. “I am certain that you shall all be invited when events are finalized. Unfortunately, I’ve been unexpectedly called home. Very urgent matter. Can’t be delayed. Simply must dash.”

“I understand.” In fact, Bard looked so terribly sympathetic that Bilbo felt his eyes welling with tears once again. 

Only because he had not slept properly sitting up in a chair, of course. Putting his handkerchief to use, Bilbo continued. “Truthfully, it’s so very important I go quickly that I left Erebor without crust or crumb.”

“Dale will provision you for your journey, of course. If you will agree to escort Bain, my son, and a small party of soldiers as far as Mirkwood. He is growing into a fine warrior himself, but I would prefer that he not go on such an adventure alone. Better to have an experienced guide such as yourself.” 

Humbled by this generosity, Bilbo could do nothing but thank Bard profusely. 

“It will take a little time to make the arrangements. If there was anything that you wanted from Erebor, I could send a messenger to fetch it.” 

“No,” Bilbo said very quickly. “Definitely not.” He thought of Sting, the mithril shirt, his perfect tea set, and all of the other little gifts Thorin had given him over the course of their acquaintance. “I would not want to disturb anyone.” 

Bard nodded shortly. “Word of your departure will not reach Erebor from my lips.” 

Then Bilbo was shown to breakfast and a proper bedroom where he could get some actual sleep before leaving. It was very kind. Bilbo had so many friends in this part of the world. Leaving without saying goodbye was wrong. But when he closed his eyes, he saw Thorin kissing Mira. He could not bear to see them together again. Holding hands. Sitting arm in arm. Pledging their hearts to one another forever. 

The pillows in Bard’s house were lovely. Unfortunately, Bilbo’s was rather damp before he managed to fall asleep. 

When he woke again it was to the sound of a real fight, not a simple scolding. Stumbling through the hall and downstairs, Bilbo saw Thorin standing in the entryway to Bard’s house with Orcrist in hand. Dwalin was at his right with both of his axes out. A small army of dwarves arrayed behind them, bristling with weaponry. 

Bard’s people were no better. The king of Dale had his bow drawn and aimed directly at Thorin. Nearly a dozen armored men loomed between him and the dwarves, swords at the ready. 

“If he is not here,” Thorin growled, “then you will let us search the house.”

“You have no right to make demands here, King Under the Mountain,” Bard said evenly. “Leave now. There is nothing in this house that belongs to you.” 

“What are you doing?” Bilbo cried. “Stop this at once!” 

Surprisingly, seeing Bilbo on the stair, Thorin did. The dwarf straightened up. Looking tremendously relieved, he sheathed his sword. All of the dwarves followed suit. Soon after, the men did as well. Bard unnotched his arrow last, turning to Bilbo. 

“You do not need to go with him,” the king said. “He has no right to keep you against your will.” 

“I do not.” Thorin looked positively forlorn. His eyes were for Bilbo alone. “I will not. But I must speak with you, Bilbo. Please.”

“Oh.” Bilbo blinked. “Yes. Yes, of course. I meant to say goodbye before leaving. Apologies for worrying you, which I clearly did. Only I have been called away. Home. I’ve been called home. Must go. Family obligations. Very unfortunate.” 

Thorin nodded. “Then I will wish you well on your journey, and beg you to take a dwarven escort to the Shire.” 

“I’ll go.” Dwalin grunted. “Ready to go right now.” 

“Ah.” Bilbo blinked again. “Thank you.” 

“But you must let me tell you that I am not to be married.” Thorin licked his lips. “I never had any intention of forcing Mira into an unwanted match. Last night was only a jest. A mistaken one. One I regret with the entirety of my heart. Bilbo. I will remain a bachelor as long as—I will remain a bachelor. Faithful. To the memory of love. For the rest of my days.” 

“Ridiculous,” Bilbo said. “Absolute poppycock. You’re perfect for each other. Of course you must marry Mira. She will make you happy.” 

Thorin shook his head. “I have said what I came to say.” Bowing deeply to Bard, he apologized prettily for disturbing the peace of Dale. Then he left. Most of the dwarves went with him. Those who remained behind where those Bilbo knew well. Along with Dwalin there was Bifur, Bofur, and Nori. 

“Brought you a few things,” Bofur said, offering Bilbo Sting and his mithril shirt. “If we’re really going back to the Shire, you’ll want them.” 

Accepting them, Bilbo said, “I need a moment.” Then he excused himself to his old friend the armchair in Bard’s sitting room. 

He sat for a long while. No matter what angle he considered the subject from, it made no sense to his weary mind. 

Eventually, Nori came in and took one of the man-sized chairs. The wide seat made Nori look smaller than he was. Almost innocent. 

“I’m the one who figured out where you were. Mad at me for telling Thorin?” 

“Of course not. It is your duty as spymaster to report to the king.” 

“Told him about Mira, too. That you were making friends with her. Talking about him. Gave the pair of them something to talk about.” 

“As is your duty,” Bilbo repeated. “Really, Nori. I’m not upset.” 

“Sure.” 

After a moment of silence, Bilbo decided to ask. “What game do you think I’m playing?” 

Nori shook his head. “I don’t anymore. I promise you that. If you were working an angle, you wouldn’t be this miserable.” 

“I’m not miserable,” Bilbo said quickly. Then, more honestly, he added, “I want Thorin to be happy. Mira could make him happy.” 

Nori shrugged. “He’s the king. Balin and Dis can moan all they like about the good a consort would do the kingdom, but Thorin’s decision is final.”

Bilbo frowned. “He really won’t marry?” 

Nori tilted his head to the side, smiling a little. “Have you ever known him to go back on his word when in his right mind?” 

“Ah.” 

The fire crackled cheerfully in the grate. Sunlight streamed through the big windows of Bard’s sitting room. It was not day for doom or gloom. So it was no surprise that Bilbo’s mood improved. 

“As it happens, the family business in the Shire for which I was called away is not so urgent as was first represented.” 

“No?”

“In fact, I do not believe I need to go at all. A letter should suffice.” 

“I hoped it might,” Nori said. 

No production was made of Bilbo’s return to the mountain. In fact, other than a rather shamefaced apology from Balin that Bilbo did not understand, everyone acted as though his trip to Dale had been an ordinary diplomatic one. Fili and Kili did not tease him for disappearing in the middle of his own party. Mira did not turn up to demand an explanation for why Bilbo ruined her chances with the king. The king himself was perfectly normal. He accepted Bilbo’s invitation to a private supper with the same alacrity he always showed for the hobbit’s cooking. 

Their conversation was amiably casual. Thorin even seemed surprised that Bilbo had no news of Bard’s family, as he usually would after a trip to Dale. 

“Well, you know it was not a social call,” Bilbo said bemusedly. 

For the first time, Thorin’s mien of friendly ignorance broke. “No. I know it was not.” 

Bilbo hurriedly refilled both of their wine glasses. “In any case, that is all in the past.” 

“Yes.” Taking Bilbo’s hand, Thorin laced their fingers together. 

Bilbo stopped breathing. It was not an unusual gesture, but Thorin tended to wait until they were finished with dinner to offer it. Still, once his heart stopped fluttering in his chest, Bilbo was perfectly capable of eating with only one hand. Especially if it meant keeping Thorin close. 

The conversation drifted for a while, through books and politics and Kili’s latest escapades. Throughout all of it, Thorin kept hold of Bilbo’s hand. Perhaps he simply needed reassurance that Bilbo had no intention of leaving the Mountain. When they moved into the sitting room for after dinner drinks, Bilbo decided to offer it. 

“The business which called me away to the Shire can be easily settled without my assistance,” he said firmly. “I shan’t be leaving.” 

Thorin’s mouth pressed together in a thin, unhappy line. “Is there need for such pretense between us? Speak plainly. You will not leave as long as I do not go around kissing other people like a wanton.” 

Bilbo dithered for a moment, but decided truth was best. “Yes. I was terribly jealous.”

Thorin’s face softened into a smile. “Your distress should not please me.”

Frowning, Bilbo poked him in the chest. “No, it should not. You cannot know how unhappy I was.” 

Thorin’s smile only grew. “It truly was a jest, Bilbo. Mira and I decided within the first five minutes of dinner that marriage would suit neither of us. Without her parents hovering over her insisting on her duty to her noble lineage, Mira was very open about the subject.” 

Bilbo crossed his arms. “So you just kissed her for a laugh? After deciding you did not want to marry her.” 

“It’s true.” Thorin looked faintly embarrassed. “She said, ‘Kiss me once. If neither of us are in love after that, we can tell everyone we tried.’ I must admit, we were rather deep in our cups at that point.” 

Bilbo sniffed. “Well, I think that is very disingenuous. It’s quite obvious to me that she only wanted to steal a kiss. She likely knew that it would be her only chance.” 

“Disingenuous indeed,” Thorin agreed. “She admitted later that she saw you watching and thought to make you envious.” 

Bilbo’s heart twisted painfully. “Why would she—?” 

“She did not know what pain it would cause you. Nor did I. Must you suffer so?” 

Bilbo looked down, but Thorin caught his chin gently with a calloused hand. 

“Forgive me.” 

“Thorin?”

“I never cause you anything but pain. Forgive me anyway. Be mine. Kiss me once, Bilbo Baggins. If you do not want me after that, I will never ask again.” 

Bilbo did not answer. Instead, as Thorin bent forward, the hobbit surged up on his toes, capturing Thorin’s lips with his own. Thorin kissed the way he danced. The way he fought. The way he did anything worth doing: with the whole of his being. 

The hand on Bilbo’s chin slid around to curl through the hobbit’s hair and cradle the back of his skull. Thorin’s other arm snaked around Bilbo’s back, tugging him close, pressing their bodies together. Bilbo used his own arms to cling to the dwarf for dear life as the wine on Thorin’s lips bowled him over like a river rapid. Their tongues met. Gently. So gently and so wholly overwhelming. After welcoming Thorin into his own mouth for a bit, Bilbo seized the opportunity to do a little exploring of his own. Thorin was extraordinarily hospitable in turn. Sadly, all too soon he pulled away, gasping for air. 

Bilbo thought breathing rather overrated. 

Tugging Thorin back down, Bilbo kissed his neck, his beard, his chin. He pressed kisses anywhere he could reach until the king offered his lips once again. 

“That’s two,” Thorin murmured when they broke a second time. 

“What?” Bilbo’s brain took a long moment to catch up. One of his hands was on Thorin’s rear. It was absolutely splendid: well muscled, supple, and firm. A large portion of Bilbo’s thoughts were directed toward figuring out how to feel it without trousers in the way. “Yes. Yes I want you. Oh, Thorin, I have always wanted you. You may have anything you care to ask for. Bachelors together, as long as you’ll have me.” 

Pulling back, Thorin squinted down at Bilbo. This was so entirely contrary to the hobbit’s wishes that the little fellow wanted to weep. “You truly have no wish to be consort? You have been doing the job in all but name since the Battle of Five Armies. Balin was certain that if you saw someone else trying to lay claim on me you would take what was yours by rights.” 

“What?” 

“I had no such confidence, of course.” Thorin blushed. “Though I hoped your love was not entirely lost to me.” 

“What?” 

“Trust, once broken, is not easily rebuilt. I had no wish to press the issue. Indeed, I will not do so now. I will never do so again, Bilbo. You have my word. You need make me no promises. But you want me. I will wait until the remaking of the world for your hand, only tell me I need not wait for another kiss.” 

“Wait.” Against all of his good judgment, Bilbo put a hand on Thorin’s chest to stop him from claiming that kiss. He regretted it instantly, but still had to ask. “We can marry? All of this has been Balin trying to convince me to marry you?” 

“Yes.” Thorin looked genuinely puzzled, as though this was something extremely obvious and not remotely confusing. “But I do not insist upon it. I will never insist upon it. Only stay with me. Take me. Be mine as I have always been yours. One more kiss, Bilbo. One more, and then another, and then another on ‘till morning. Let me prove my love.” 

“Stop.” Bilbo shook his head. “Love? No. No. Go further back. We can marry? You and I? You want to marry me? I don’t know how it works for dwarves, Thorin, but I am a fellow. I cannot give you children.” 

Thorin blinked. “I am happy with my nephews as heirs to the throne of Erebor. Progeny would not be required to validate a marriage.” Since this was practically verbatim what Dis said in every single meeting with a perspective consort’s family, Thorin was right to be surprised that Bilbo apparently did not know it. 

The hobbit nodded. “Okay. And you love me?” 

“Desperately,” Thorin said. “You are right to doubt me. To refuse to forgive me. I tried to kill you, after all, and you have only ever tried to keep me safe.” 

“I do not doubt you, Thorin,” Bilbo said. “I love you.” 

After that, Bilbo had to allow another kiss. Allow might not be the correct word for what followed on the settee. Wantonly encouraged is a far more accurate assessment. As for what happened in the bedroom? Mischievously undertook to unexpectedly please is the kindest way to put it. Happily, Thorin was very pleased indeed. 

They were married within a month. Dis and Balin were both appallingly smug about the whole affair, but that was well enough. Bilbo did not stop smiling for an entire year.


End file.
